Love Expands

The problem with the world is that the intelligent people are full of doubts, while the stupid ones are full of confidence.

Capitalism has survived communism. Now, it eats away at itself.

People do too much. They say too much.

There are only two things wrong with money: too much or too little.

Our disappointment sits between us.

I hated you when it would have taken less courage to love.

from the beginning, through the middle years and up to the end: too bad, too bad, too bad.

I will remember the kisses, our lips raw with love, and how you gave me everything you had and how I offered you what was left of me.

Bullfighting can be an art Boxing can be an art Loving can be an art Opening a can of sardines can be an art

To not to have entirely wasted one’s life seems to be a worthy accomplishment, if only for myself.

people see so many movies that when they finally see one not so bad as the others, they think it’s great. an Academy Award means that you don’t stink quite as much as your cousin.

It was like any other relationship, there was jealousy on both sides, there were split-ups and reconciliations. There were also fragmented moments of great peace and beauty. I often tried to get away from her and she tried to get away from me but it was difficult: Cupid, in his strange way, was really there.

The pest, in a sense, is a very superior being to us: he knows where to find us and how–usually in the bath or in sexual intercourse or asleep.

it’s good to have things done with when they don’t work it’s also good not to hate or even forget the person you’ve failed with.

It seems I make a lot of mistakes and it seems that I am not allowed any.

there are policemen in the street and angels in the clouds

People were usually much better in their letters than in reality. They were much like poets in this way.

We are all museums of fear.

Yes?’ he asked, looking at me over the sheet. ‘I’m a writer temporarily down on my inspirations.’ ‘Oh, a writer, eh?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Are you sure?’ ‘No, I’m not.’ ‘What do you write?’ ‘Short stories mostly. And I’m halfway through a novel.’ ‘A novel, eh?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘What’s the name of it?’ ‘The Leaky Faucet of My Doom.‘ ‘Oh, I like that. What’s it about?’ ‘Everything.’ ‘Everything? You mean, for instance, it’s about cancer?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘How about my wife?’ ‘She’s in there too.

there is moss on the walls and the stain of thought and failure and waiting

I wanted the whole world or nothing.